Something Wicked
by rosinante
Summary: [Working title] Just when Tommy Vercetti thought he had everything straightened out in Vice, turns out he hasn't. Warning for language, violence, implied sexual situations and other stuff your mother wouldn't want you to read.
1. Something Wicked Prologue

(**Longer author's notes**: this story is AU for the following simple reason: I like Lance and I didn't want him to stab Tommy in the back. If this grievous break in canon offends/irritates you, this story isn't for you. Furthermore: this story contains a lot of foul language, references to sexual situations, both heterosexual and homosexual, _and_ it introduces an original character. If you're determined to flame me, here's a tip: don't, since I don't care. I'm open to constructive criticism and I would love for people to point out any spelling or grammar errors, as I'm sure I've missed some while editing the story. Thanks in advance to those taking the time to read and review.)

**Prologue**

Del Jones beamed at the slightly flummoxed young woman in front of him. "So? Whaddaya say?"

She wet her lips -- nice! -- and walked around the car one more time. A Blista Compact; not even Vice City Trash would take it, the only one left at Sunshine's, and he was almost rid of it. Mr V. would be happy to hear it.

"Do you have it in blue?" she asked.

"Errr..." Del stammered, thinking about the Spray 'n Go in the garage. "I think so. I'd have to check." Screeching tires outside announced the arrival of Mr Boss himself and Del glanced up to see the figure in the familiar ugly blue Hawaiian shirt make his way to the door, hood of his car gone. Del had never figured out how a driver like Mr V. managed to damage just about any car he ever touched. "Could you excuse me a minute?"

She nodded and Del high-tailed toward the Boss, who was running his hand over the roof of a brand new golden Infernus, which Del had... acquired... late last night. "Got it last night, Mr V.," he said when he was within Vercetti's earshot.

"Looks good," Vercetti growled. "How's the revenues?"

"Upstairs, upstairs, safely in the safe." Del stuck his head around the door of the below office. "Hey, Mark, can you help the woman customer with the Blista while I'm upstairs?"

His assistant looked up. "We're finally getting rid of that ugly-ass machine?"

Del nodded happily, all-too aware of Vercetti impatiently tapping his foot behind. "Yup. So get her fixed up -- she wants it in blue, so paint it over ASAP -- and then we'll never have to deal with one of those again."

"You done there?" Vercetti asked behind him. Del jumped and turned around. "I'm kind of in a rush."

Better not ask, Del decided, and he walked up the stairs ahead of his boss. There was no one on the second floor, as was usual, and Del ducked behind the desk to punch in the access code to the safe. When he stood full-length again, Vercetti was at the floor-to-ceiling windows, hands in his pockets.

"You looking for something special, boss?" Del asked, coming up next to him with the envelope containing yesterday's revenues.

Vercetti didn't even look at him. "Not at the moment." He folded the envelope and stuck it in his shirt pocket. "See you tomorrow."

Del nodded and watched the city's most wanted criminal head down the stairs. Mr V. would check out the garage before leaving, perhaps have his car painted a different color, and then head out again. To where, Del didn't know and he knew it would be best if he never knew. Then he'd still be able to flatly stare down the boys in brown and tell them he had no idea, sir, about anything illegal going on with Mr Vercetti. No, sirs, this is a legitimate car dealership, here's out paperwork, see how we pay taxes?

If one lived in Vice City, one knew Thomas J. Vercetti. But if one worked for Mr Vercetti, one best knew as little as possible.


	2. This Way Comes

**Chapter 1: Something Wicked This Way Comes**

Mercedes Cortez liked Tommy Vercetti. She liked his name, she liked his reputation, she liked his cock. Oh, no, she wasn't in love with him, that wasn't her style, but he was a good fuck, and good fucks were hard to find. Even the professional men at InterGlobal Films couldn't measure up against Vercetti.

Except... Mercedes grabbed at the dashboard as Tommy rounded the corner on two wheels. If only the man drove as well as he fucked, then she'd feel a lot safer to be contained in a tiny metal deathmachine on wheels with him.

"Goddamn idiot drivers," Tommy muttered darkly. Mercedes decided not to ask whether he included himself in that. Her daddy had always taught her to adhere to the law, whether on the road or on the waters, because disobeying the law attracted the policía and the Cortezes had enough trouble with them as it was.

Tommy raced past Cherry Poppers without a second look and took the corner with the tires screeching. A band of Cubans gathered on that corner started shouting when the Infernus made them dive out of the way, but shut up when they realized who the driver was. An honorary Cuban, Tommy enjoyed the protection and respect of Umberto Robina, Little Havana's loud-mouthed, courage-free bigshot. Mercedes didn't like Robina and she most certainly didn't like the way he looked at her ass. She could do far better than him.

"Shit!" Tommy threw the wheel over and hit the brakes, Mercedes bracing herself as the Infernus skidded toward a stop in front of a traffic accident. "Fuckers."

"Traffic accidents can be so inconvenient," Mercedes said, rolling her Rs because it would annoy Tommy when he was already pissed off. And indeed, Tommy glared at her as he headed on the road that led to Sunshine Autos. Whenever Mercedes accompanied Tommy on his revenues run, he'd always start at Sunshine's, and leave Cherry Popper's, which was about a block away, for last. He refused to tell her why, although she suspected it had something to do with the hag who was his manager-in-charge. She couldn't blame him. She scared her, too.

The Infernus hit a bump as Tommy steered it onto Sunshine's territory and several of Tommy's gang looked up, most of them frowning. Mercedes blinked. Why did they all look at them funny?

Tommy noticed it, too, and he met her eyes briefly before getting out. "Something's up."

As they climbed out the banged up Infernus, Del Jones, acting manager, came out and froze in his step, his mouth falling open. "B-boss?" he stammered.

"Yes?" Tommy drawled.

"Is... is something wrong?"

Tommy raised an eyebrow. "Nothing's wrong with me, Jones. You, on the other hand, and my compadres here, are acting very... let's say, suspiciously. What, you got a visit from the Feds?"

"No, no!" Jones denied. "No Feds. Not since last week, anyway."

"Good," said Tommy. "I'm just here for yesterday's revenues and then we'll be on our way."

Jones stared at him.

Mercedes kicked him in the shin. "Is there a problem?" she enquired.

"No!" Jones said, rubbing his shin. "I mean, yes! Yes, there's a problem and the problem is that you've already been here!"

"I what?"

"You were here! About an hour ago! For yesterday's revenues. You picked them up, growled at me, and left."

"The fuck's going on here?" Tommy demanded. "You're my first stop for the day!"

"I have been with Tommy all morning," Mercedes chimed in. "He hasn't been here yet. We haven't been anywhere yet."

Jones threw up his hands. "Mark! Hey, Delorentes, get your ass out here!"

Seconds later, Mark Delorentes walked out from the garage, wiping his hand on a cloth. "Hey Boss," he greeted, "forgot something?"

Tommy clenched his fist and Mercedes reached out to lay a hand on his tense arm. Nice muscles. "No, I did not. I have not been here this morning."

Delorentes blinked. "You picked up yesterday's revs?"

"No."

"But--"

"No."

Jones buried his face in his hands. There was a tense pause that Mercedes wanted to break, but Jones jerked his head back up. "Security cameras!"

Less than a minute later, Mercedes, Tommy, Jones and Delorentes stood squashed together around the desk holding the monitor in Jones' tiny upper office, their attention fixed on the view in front of them. Mercedes watched Jones pull out today's video and put in a clean one to continue taping while they watched. Next to her, Tommy was practically vibrating with impatience.

"Today's tape," Jones said, squatting down in front of the VCR. First there was snow, a flicker or two and then the driveway to Sunshine Autos appeared on the monitor. Muttering under his breath, Jones fast-forwarded a couple of hours. He banged a triumphant fist on the monitor. Disbelief mounting, Mercedes leaned forward as on the screen, Tommy Vercetti climbed out of a bright red Infernus wearing a bright blue Hawaiian shirt.

The real Tommy next to her glanced down at his shirt, then pounded a fist on Jones' desk before rounding on his manager. Both Mercedes and Delorentes were too late to stop Tommy from grabbing Jones' collar and smashing him up against the wall, the barrel of a Mac an inch away from his eyes.

"What the fuck's going on here, Jones?" Tommy barked.

Mercedes checked the date on the monitor. Today's, and yet she knew Tommy had not been at Sunshine's at 11.14 this morning, because they, alongside Ken, Lance and that irritating shit Steve Scott had been having a brunch at the pool at that time.

"This has to be faked," she said, paying no attention to the terrified squeaks emitting from Jones. Delorentes looked like he wanted to flee, but seemed to realize it would be a bad idea to run from a man like Tommy Vercetti.

"I swear to God, boss, it was you," Jones choked. "You know I've always been loyal to you, ever since you hired me. You were here, this morning."

"Go ask your men if you don't believe him," Delorentes added hurriedly. "They're always standing around here; they must have seen something."

Tommy jammed the Mac in Jones' neck, who closed his eyes in return. Mercedes saw his lips move. "I will ask. And if I think they're lying, I'll kill everyone here, starting with them and ending with you, Jones." With that, he released Jones and stormed out of the office. Jones silently slid down the wall. Mercedes sniffed. Pathetic little man. One little threat and he was shitting his pants.

"So tell me what happened this morning." She directed the question at Delorentes, as Jones looked like he was trying not to cry.

"Errr," Delorentes said, glancing at Jones. "It was just normal, y'know? I was doing some paperwork, Del was handling our sole buying customer at that time, the guys were downstairs fixin' shit up. And up drives Mr V. and Del comes into my office, says we're selling the Compact, and then he and Mr V. leave again to go to the office to get the money. I was done workin' just right before Mr V. left, so I saw him get in and drive away." Delorentes shrugged. "Nothin' unusual about it."

"And you're sure it was Tommy?" Mercedes asked. There were a lot of creative minds with a grudge against Tommy in Vice.

"Uh, I think I know what Mr V. looks like," said Delorentes. "It was him fer sure."

Mercedes glanced back the monitor and rewound to the right time, wishing there was a way to zoom in. But even from the camera's distance, she knew it was Tommy, from the familiar facial features to the Mac at his side to the way he carried himself. She drummed her fingers on the desk and squinted at the image. Something niggled at her brain.

It hit her. She sucked in a breath and pressed her face against the monitor. Tommy was right-handed, yet on the monitor, the fingers of his left hand occasionally brushed against the weapon as he walked. An imposter.

"What--?" Delorentes began, but Mercedes ignored him, rushed to the railing and hung over it, shouting for Tommy. When he came in again, white-knuckled, she told him what she discovered.

"Son of a bitch," Tommy said softly as they, again, reviewed the tape.

"Whoever it is looks a lot like you," Jones said. His voice was still shaking, but he was rapidly regaining his composure.

Abruptly, Tommy straightened up and strode away. Bewildered, Mercedes followed him and got in the car just in time, because he was already accelerating when she'd only had one leg in.

"Tommy?"

"I'm going to find him and then I'm going to kill him. Slowly."

"Who?"

Tommy finally looked at her. "My brother."


	3. Exercise In Futility

**Chapter 3:** **Exercise In Futility**

The situation was the same at the Boatyard, and at Cherry Poppers, Pole Position, PrintWorks, InterGlobal and the Malibu Club. All revenues had been collected, yes, by Mr Vercetti, who's been here this morning, Ms Cortez. Is there anything we can help you with?

Exhaling, Mercedes walked back to the Infernus, where Tommy was steaming quietly behind the wheel. "Malibu Club revenues were collected by Mr Vercetti this morning," she reported, sliding into the passenger seat. Tommy rammed his fist against the wheel and let out a stream of very creative curses that fazed Mercedes none. Juan García Cortez was her father, after all, and she'd grown up around him and dozens of sailors.

Done cursing, Tommy leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes, lips pressed together in a tight line. "He's been to all my assets, took all my money. He needs to rest, he needs food, he needs to goddamn take a piss. Where's he gonna go?"

"A hotel," Mercedes suggested.

"One of my places," Tommy added.

"He doesn't have the keys," she countered. She leaned over and rested a hand on his knee. "Let's go home," she said. "You need to eat. You can place a few phone calls, see who knows anything about someone looking a lot like you checking in a hotel in Vice somewhere. There's one thing your brother doesn't have here."

"What's that?" Tommy asked, stepping on the gas and tearing away from the Malibu.

Mercedes smiled. "Anonymity."

"So let me get this straight," said Ken, pacing the bar room. An open fire burned merrily, even though early evenings in Vice were still hot and humid. "There's this guy in town impersonating you, and he's taken all your money and ran."

"Do we know for sure he's still in town?" Lance asked. He was lounging on the leather sofa, idly flipping channels.

Tommy shrugged. "He might've left already, I don't know. If he's still here, though, he's gonna be in a world of hurt when I get my hands on him."

"Wait, wait, wait." Ken squeezed his eyes shut and fisted his hair. "This is your brother we're talking about, yeah? Twin brother."

"Yeah," said Tommy. "Nicky." He put a bottle of beer to his lips and drank, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "We never really got along. Haven't seen him in twenty years. Thought he was dead, actually."

"This is bad," Ken muttered, quickening his steps, "this is very bad. This guy could wreak havoc. Destroy everything we worked for."

Lance raised an eyebrow. "We?"

"Well, you and Tommy and-- but that's beside the point. The point is that we have to stop this guy."

"No shit, Rosenberg," Tommy said. "You got contacts, see what you can find out. Lance, grab some men and head into Little Havana, see what they know. I'll make some calls from here. Find out where he's staying and then we're gonna nail him."

"If he's still in town," Lance said.

Tommy ran a cold bottle of beer over his forehead. "He's trying to screw me over and he's just begun. I'll bet the Malibu that he's still around."

"He can't be in any of your places, because he needs keys," said Mercedes. "So that rules out... half of Vice." She smirked at Tommy.

"What if he got keys?" Tommy asked.

"How?" Lance glanced between them. "You're the only one with keys and you guard they like they're the motherfucking keys to your unborn daughter's virginity. No, he ain't got no keys."

"I never let them out of my sight," Tommy agreed, patting the pocket of his stone-washed jeans. He glanced at Ken. "Check out the OceanView first."

Ken nodded.

"Why the OceanView?" Mercedes asked.

"That's where I stayed when I first got here. And call Kent Paul," he yelled after the departing Ken. "If there's anything going on in Vice, he'll know about it, God knows how."

"Yeah, it's almost creepy how much that guy knows about the going ons here in Vice," said Lance. "I can't scratch my ass without him puttin' out flyers about it."

"Wonderful metaphor, Lance," Mercedes said and Lance grinned.

"I try," he said modestly.

"Can we get back to the matter at hand here?" Tommy rose to his feet and pushed down the blinds at the window to look over the driveway. "Today's missed revenues... well, it hurts, but I'll deal."

It was probably, Mercedes thought, his pride that hurt more than anything. Not many people managed to get the better of Tommy Vercetti, although she supposed that if there was one person to do so, it would have to be another Vercetti.

"However, this can't happen again tomorrow," Tommy continued. "And word can't get out. Jones and Delorentes know, but they'll keep quiet if they know what's good for them."

"So do you think someone sent him here? The Forellis?" Lance asked. "Wantin' their money and some revenge for icing Sonny?"

Tommy shook his head. "No. Taking my money looks too much like last time; not the Forellis' style."

Last time, when Sonny had come to town to get the money from the drug deal gone awry, and Lance had double-crossed the double-crosser, leading to the demise of the head of the Forellis. Mercedes hadn't been present during the shoot-out, but she'd heard bits and managed to piece it together.

"So it's personal?" she asked.

"Looks like it," Tommy sighed.

"But why?"

Tommy glanced at her, his eyes darker in the light of the setting sun pouring through the window. "Revenge. I made him look bad a couple of times back before I went in. Sonny liked me better, thought I was more competent and gave me more shit to do. Nicky was bumped down; wound up running errands mostly. Guess the fifteen years I spent inside aren't enough for him."

Lance and Mercedes were quiet for a minute. Outside, Vercetti gang members and bodyguards patrolled the perimeter around the mansion as evening fell.

"Does he want to whack you too?" Lance asked, sitting up straight, fingers sliding idly over the cool metal of his Python.

"I don't think so. I'm family. You don't whack family."

"So you're not gonna whack him?" Lance asked, shooting Mercedes a disbelieving look.

Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose. "Believe me, I want to. But there are a lotta armed Vercettis out there who'd take offense to that."

"Do you have any more mystery siblings, Tommy?" Mercedes asked.

"No. I mean, yes, Anna. My sister. Respectable woman. Didn't want to have anything to do with the family or the business. She's probably married by now, living in suburbia in a house with a white picket fence, a dog, and 2.3 kids." Tommy made a face as if he couldn't possibly imagine a worse fate for a person and Mercedes hid a smile.

"So she ain't out gunning for your ass?" Lance asked.

"She isn't even living in the States anymore, last I heard. Packed up and moved to some unpronouncable European shithole."

Lance pushed himself to his feet. "Well, I better get going. Fucking Haitians swarm Little Havana as soon as it gets dark." He met Tommy's eyes. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

Which was an unspoken command to Mercedes -- my turn tonight. She didn't care; she had other places to be and other people to screw. She got up as well and laid a hand on Tommy's shoulder. "What do you say to you, me and dinner? And I will phone my father and ask him to ask around. He knows a great many people your other friends might not."

"Sounds like a plan." Tommy got up and ushered the both of them from the room. "Let's get going."


	4. Find The Man

**Chapter 4: Find The Man**

The results of everyone banding together to find out where the fuck Tommy's brother was hanging out was disappointing, if not surprising. Seated at the elegant dining room table in the mansion at nine in the morning, Mercedes watched Tommy listen to his friends reporting in, his face tight and devoid of any emotion.

"So basically, we've got about two dozen leads on this guy," Rosenberg was saying. "He checked in in about a dozen hotels, half a dozen bed and breakfasts and he's been spotted all over town."

"A couple of Robina's compadres told me they helped out Tommy last night when he got into a bit of a tight spot with a bunch of Haitians hell-bent on extracting revenge," Lance added. "There was a major shoot-out, the cops got involved and two motherfuckers lost their lives."

"I don't give a shit about the fucking Haitians," Tommy said, leaning forward. "Do Robina's buddies know what happened to him? To me?" He closed his eyes, a line appearing between his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"You-- I mean, _he_... fled, but not with the Cubans," said Lance. "They said he drove off toward downtown. After that, no one's seen him."

"None of the Cubans," Rosenberg clarified. "If our timeline's right--"

"--and it is," Lance interjected.

"--then shortly after the fight in Little Haiti, this guy checked into the OceanView and the WK Chariot." Rosenberg shrugged. "Then after that, the Plaza and the Carpe Diem. Which sucks, by the way, the Carpe Diem. Rooms are trashed, horrible roomservice, and let's not even talk about th--"

"Rosenberg," Tommy said in that dangerously calm voice.

"Right, right," said Rosenberg, rapidly patting down his pockets, probably looking for some coke. "The Deacon, Moonlite and the Laurence also told me they saw him last night. They all tried to give him a discount, too, but he wouldn't hear of it."

"Of course not," Tommy sighed. "How else would he spend all of my money?" He got up and paced the room. "Well, I ain't gonna sit on my ass and do nothing while Nicky wreaks havoc with everything we've worked for so hard. Today, we're gonna look for him and we're gonna find him." He thumbed toward Mercedes and Lance. "And just so everyone's not grabbing the wrong guy, I'll be with either Mercedes or Lance all day. Lance, Mercedes, Rosenberg, get a couple of people we can trust, explain what's going on and what they gotta do."

Lance nodded. "I cot a couple of names."

"I don't think we can keep this a secret very long, but we're gonna have to try," Tommy continued. "Comb this city. Check everywhere he's been spotted, two or three times if you have to." He paused. "And carry some power. He's armed as well."


	5. The Camera Sees All

**Chapter 5: The Camera Sees All**

The sun was at its highest point and beating down relentlessly on their heads when Tommy and Mercedes slid back into the gleaming white Infernus, which, surprisingly, was mostly still in one part. Mostly, Mercedes thought, eyeing the broken windshield and pulling hard on her door to get it closed. Tommy rammed a fist on the button for the airconditioning and they let out a simultaneous sigh the moment the first blast of cold air hit them.

Tommy dropped his head back against the headrest. "Nothing. Shit."

Mercedes breathed in the cold air and put a hand on his thigh, giving it a squeeze. "What do you say we go back to your house and... have lunch? You need the distraction." The tone of her voice made clear she wasn't talking about food and Tommy got the hint, glancing at her with a tiny smirk on his lips.

"I would like lunch." He turned the key in the ignition.

"Excellent," she purred. "And then," she breathed, leaning closer and not even caring her close presence to Tommy made the car veer dangerously off the right side of the, "you can tell me all about what you and Lance did last night."

Tommy stepped on the gas.

The issue of Nicky Vercetti momentarily pushed aside, Tommy raced the Infernus back toward the mansion, which loomed against the painfully clear-bly sky of Vice City. Other than the customary bodyguards which always milled around on the estate and far around it, no one was present, which suited Mercedes just fine. While she didn't object to an audience per se – most of her movies had been very successful, after all – there were times when she could do without.

They were inside the mansion, stumbling toward the stairs, her lips against his, her hand on his zipper, Tommy's fingers splayed against the small of her back, when Tommy abruptly pulled away and raised his head.

"What is it?" Mercedes said, pressing her fingers against the bulge in his jeans.

He put a finger against her lips. "There's someone in the house," he said softly.

"There's always someone in your house," she said reasonably.

He shook his head. "I wanna check the cameras."

Sighing, Mercedes followed him to the lounge, where two dozen monitors oversaw everything that happened in the mansion and on the estate. The pier was deserted, she saw, aside from a couple of speedboats floating on the waves. The yard, the lawn, the giant maze, everything outside seemed okay.

"There," Tommy said, stabbing a finger on the third monitor from the top. "Look at that."

Her breath caught in her throat. Tommy Vercetti was standing right next to her, overwhelming and imposing as always, but his exact double was moving around in the master bedroom with its unmade bed.

Tommy pulled his gun. "That son of a bitch." And he was off, opening a panel in the wall that led to a narrow staircase. He'd had it built in shortly after he'd taken over the mansion from that foul pig, Ricardo Diaz. Mercedes automatically wrinkled her nose at the memory and hurried after Tommy, stumbling over the steep steps of the staircase. She couldn't see him anymore, but she did hear heavy running footsteps above her head. At the top of the stairs, Mercedes looked frantically left and right, trying to decide where to go, when a couple of rapid pop-pop-pops made her blood run cold.

Gun shots. Kicking off those damnable high heels as she went, Mercedes ran toward the sound and stuttered to a halt in the doorway one of the mansion's many guest rooms, catching a glimpse of a hideously bright blue Hawaiian shirt. There wasn't any blood, weren't any injuries or dead.

"Madre de Dios," Mercedes whispered, leaning unsteadily against the panel. It was Tommy and his brother, facing each other over a tightly made bed. Both were holding Macs, pointing it at the other person, and the worst thing was, Mercedes thought, that she couldn't tell who was her Tommy and who was Nicky Vercetti. "Tommy?" she ventured.

"Yes?" both men said in unison, followed by a twin irritated growl.

"I'm Tommy!" the Vercetti on the left snapped.

"Shut the fuck up, Nicky!" the other said.

"I'm not Nicky!" the left Vercetti roared and his finger tightened on the trigger.

Mercedes took a deep breath and did what she should have done right away – ignoring both men's astounded faces, she climbed on the bed and positioned herself to be right in the path of the bullets. Oh, well. It wasn't as if she'd never been held at gunpoint before. Her heart pounding, she carefully looked from one Vercetti to the other. "Are you going to kill each other?"

"I might," growled the one to her left.

"Yes," said the other one.

"Well," Mercedes said, keeping her voice steady. "Nobody is going to kill anyone. For one thing, Tommy," she said, swivelling her head to look at the both of them because she still wasn't entirely sure, although she had her suspicions by now, "you said you wouldn't and that you don't kill family. Nicky Vercetti, if you kill Tommy, the only way you'll leave Starfish Island is in a bodybag, and then only if Tommy's buddies haven't dumped your body somewhere nobody will ever find you. As you might have noticed by now, Tommy has a lot of important and influential friends in Vice City," she said, rolling her Rs. The Vercetti on the left flinched almost imperceptively at her heavier than usual Spanish accent and Mercedes bit back a satisfied smile.

Neither men spoke. Both their guns were still trained at each other – through her. How to diffuse…

"Give me your guns," she said, stretching out both of her hands, registering the identical expressions of shock on their faces. "There will be no killing."

"What do you suggest we do, Mercedes?" the Vercetti on her left – probably Tommy – demanded impatiently. "We're kind of in a stalemate here."

"You're going to give me the guns, then we are going to talk," she said. "Nicky is going to somehow pay back all the money and then leave Vice, never to return. How does that sound?"

"Like a bad plan," said the wrong Vercetti and in one fluid motion, Mercedes whirled around and kicked him right under his chin. He stumbled back, releasing his grip on the gun, and grabbed for his face.

"You bitch!" he screamed and through the pounding in her ears, Mercedes noticed Tommy dive for his brother's gun. Her foot ached as if she'd just kicked a brick wall and she dropped down on the bed, massaging her toes.

"Great work, Mercedes," Tommy said, now aiming both guns at Nicky, who was sitting in a crumpled heap on the floor.

"Prove you're you," was all she said, giving him a hard stare. Nicky Vercetti had already proven to be one hell of an actor, if he'd managed to fool all of Tommy's employees into thinking he was the real thing.

Tommy blinked. "We were going to have sex instead of lunch."

Relief flooded her and she smiled at him. "That'll do."

"So it's a girl this time around, Tommy?" Nicky sneered, rubbing his jaw.

"Shut the fuck up, Nicky." Tommy cocked both guns simultaneously. "I ain't gonna kill you, but I can still inflict a lot of pain with a couple of bullets." He clicked the safety back on and slipped the guns in the waistband on his jeans. "And also without bullets," he added, cracking his knuckles.

From her position on the bed, Mercedes imagined she saw Nicky Vercetti pale ever so slightly. Letting go of her foot, she crawled toward the edge of the single bed and peered intently at Nicky Vercetti's face. Now unmasked, the differences between him and Tommy grew more pronounced; the expression in Nicky's face was softer where Tommy's was hardened by fifteen years on the inside. They were strikingly similar, but Mercedes felt confident in being able to tell them apart from now on.

"Get up," Tommy ordered, resting a hand loosely on one of the guns on his side. Nicky struggled to his feet, a hand still massaging his sore jaw, and glared at Tommy. "Keep your hands where I can see ' em."

"Don't trust me, bro?" Nicky drawled.

Tommy raised an eyebrow. "After yesterday and our little face-off just now? No."


	6. Another Attempt At Lunch

**Chapter 6: Another Attempt At Lunch**

Mercedes couldn't blame him. She would've the exact same thing had she been in Tommy's situation. She would never be in Tommy's situation, of course, for she didn't have an identical twin running around and wreaking havoc.

"Move," Tommy said, grabbing one of the guns and gesturing at the hall. "Now."

"Where are you taking him?" Mercedes asked, following Tommy and the other Vercetti out of the guest room.

"Cellar," said Tommy, keeping his eyes trained on his twin. Mercedes had to break into an almost run to keep up with the two brothers. "Diaz built a couple of cells there to fuck with his men's heads if they screwed up."

"Sounds just like him," said Mercedes, bending down to pick up one of her high-heeled shoes when she came across it.

Nicky Vercetti snorted loudly. "And now you're gonna do just the same as this Diaz fucker, Thomas?" he said.

"Shut the fuck up," Tommy growled.

"Make me," Nicky taunted and Mercedes flinched when Tommy rammed the butt of the gun into the back of Nicky's head. The other Vercetti stumbled, crying out, and fell against the wall. Tommy surveyed the whole thing with distaste and Mercedes shrugged, hunting down her other shoe.

"Let's go," Tommy said when Nicky made no move to get up again, and he grabbed his twin's arm. "We ain't got time to dawdle here. I still haven't had lunch."

"Fuck you," Nicky spat and when he touched the back of his head, his fingers came away red.

"No, fuck you, dear brother. What'd you do with my money?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Nicky yanked himself free and glared at Tommy.

"We do remember who has the gun, right?" Tommy waved the Mac around.

"If you kill me, you won't know anything."

"Who said anything about killing? I was thinking about maiming."

"Well, don't," said Mercedes, drawing both brothers' attention. "You'll get blood all over the carpet and we just had it cleaned after the Diaz fiasco. Tommy." She put a hand on his arm and felt the tension there. "Let's just lock him up first, then we can figure out what to do with him. If I learned one thing from my father, it's that nobody gets very far with acting on rash decisions."

He looked at her steadily and she gave him an encouraging nod. Tommy Vercetti was no fool. Fools wouldn't have managed to control Vice the way he was doing right now. He might be the smartest man she knew, aside from her father, and she saw he knew she was right.

A few minutes later, Nicky Vercetti was safely locked away in one of Diaz' old, dank, stinking cells, with four Vercetti gang members standing guard outside the door. Tommy had smirked before slamming the door shut, and Nicky had given him the finger.

Now Mercedes, still bare-footed, and Tommy were making their way back to the bar room, where Tommy poured first himself, then Mercedes, a stiff drink, which he knocked back in one go.

"You should put shoes on," said Tommy, pouring himself another vodka. "Why are you carrying them instead of wearing 'em?"

She blinked down at her hands. "I don't know," she said, letting them drop to floor and slipping her feet into them. "There. Better?"

He shrugged and sat down heavily on the couch.

"I thought you'd be happy," she said.

He frowned at the floor. "Still haven't got my money back."

"We'll get it out of him," she said.

"Still haven't beaten the shit out of him."

"We'll get around to that."

"Still haven't fucked," he said and there was a glint in his eyes when he looked up at her.

Mercedes laughed and put her glass down on the bar before climbing into his lap. Tommy leaned back onto the couch, his hands already hiking up her skirt, his breath hot against her lips. "You don't waste any time, do you?" he whispered.

"No," she whispered back, undoing the buttons on his jeans, "I don't."


	7. Decisions, Decisions

**Chapter** **7: Decisions, Decisions**

"I know what you were thinking," Tommy said afterwards, eyeing her as she pulled her skirt straight and tried to fingercomb her hair into submission.

"When?" she asked, adjusting her bra strap.

"Just now," he said, indicating the rumpled couch with a half-empty beer bottle. He leaned back against the bar, shirt still open, and smiled. It wasn't an entirely pleasant smile.

"Really?" she said.

He nodded. "You were thinking about him. Nicky."

Mercedes raised an eyebrow.

"About Nicky and me and you, and about what it'd be like to fuck twins," Tommy went on, casually. He took a slow sip. "Doing twins is... interesting." He bared his teeth.

"You've done it?" she said, not surprised at all.

"Yes."

"Men or women?"

Tommy grinned, and then Ken and Lance walked in, Lance shooting her a look Mercedes could only describe as jealous. "We got him," Tommy announced and Ken did a little jump on the spot.

"Seriously?" Lance asked. "Beer, Rosenberg?"

"Yeah, sure." Rosenberg almost missed the bottle Lance tossed him. "You found him, Tommy?"

"It was more like he found us," Tommy said. "Fucker was hiding out in one of the guestrooms. We spotted him on the monitors."

"Where's he now?" Lance asked, coming to stand right beside Tommy.

"Cellars," said Mercedes.

"What are we gonna do with him?" Rosenberg asked.

"Haven't decided yet," said Tommy. "I can't kill him and I can't afford to have him walking around Vice, looking like me and fucking up my business."

"We'll just kick him out," Lance suggested. "Tell him to take a long walk off a short pier. Make sure he never comes back here if he knows what's good for him."

Tommy nodded at him. "That's option four."

Mercedes counted on her fingers. "One is killing him, two is releasing him... what's three?"

"Keeping him locked up indefinitely." Tommy shrugged. "I'm not using the cells and there's plenty of food to go around. Although he'll be bored out of his fucking skull, but ask me if I care."

"Won't he be missed?" Mercedes asked reasonably. "Do people know he's here?"

Tommy considered her question, absently scrubbing at the scruff on his chin. "Maybe. Probably." He frowned. "I don't even know why he's here."

"Let's ask him," said Lance.

"We will," Tommy said. "But first, we're gonna let him stew." He looked around the group. "You guys had lunch yet?"


End file.
